Our Sunburnt Layover: A Recap

I’ve never had such a fun layover in my life. When we began our trip, both Mariah and I were grumbling a bit about being forced to spend 12 hours in one city. We both would rather just get to Christchurch as soon as possible. I had a mental image of us trudging around the city for hours, forcing ourselves to do a bit of sightseeing while secretly just wishing we could take a nap.

As soon as we landed in LA, however, we had the sudden realization that we were near the ocean, and the weather was absolutely perfect. Why couldn’t we just go hang out at the beach?

We asked a few workers where we could store our luggage, but they all gave us the same answer: Ever since 9/11, it’s impossible to store luggage anywhere in the city. I was shocked, since every European airport and main train station I can think of has a storage center for luggage.

Momentarily stumped, we weren’t quite sure what to do. But there was really no choice--we would have to lug our 30+ pounds of stuff everywhere we went.

We headed for Santa Monica, armed with a step-by-step guide explaining how to use the buses to get there.

We were quite the spectacle, two young women, covered in backpacks, still wearing winter Minnesotan gear in the California heat. Mainly because of our obnoxiously giant backpacks, I think, people started approaching us randomly, asking where we were from or where we were going. This happened more times than I could count. Men, women, young, old, American, foreign… It was like we were wearing a huge sign that said, “WE ARE FRIENDLY. PLEASE START A CONVERSATION WITH US.” The friendliness of the people in LA certainly put our “Minnesota Nice” to shame.

So, as it turned out, carrying our heavy backpacks around was a sort of blessing.

We spent 4 or 5 hours on the beach, reveling in the fact that we were outside in tank tops and shorts, without the risk of freezing to death.

Pizza, ice cream cones, and delicious Mexican food on the pier at sunset were all part of our dreamy layover. And, even better, we spent less than $20 for the whole thing, what withn the $1 bus fare and the beach being totally free. Not a bad deal!

We made it back to the airport in time, thinking our magical day had come to a close. We went through the busy security line and were separated into different lines, so I got through first. I stood off to the side, people watching and waiting for Mariah.

And then I saw him. I couldn’t believe it at first, and wasn’t sure if my eyes were deceiving me. He seemed shorter than expected, but otherwise the resemblance was uncanny.

Mariah walked over.

“Mariah,” I said in a hushed voice. “Look at that man. Is that Simon Cowell?”

She looked over at him, narrowing her eyes. We couldn’t decide for sure if it was him. I pretended to tie my shoe as she snapped a couple of photos with her phone. Professional spies (aka stalkers).

Then he walked past us with his little posse. I saw his face up close--just two feet away--and gasped. It absolutely, without a doubt, was Simon Cowell.

We reacted as any mature adult would in this situation: We giggled and giggled, then followed him, taking selfies with him in the background (while we gigled some more). And then we bragged to all of our friends.

Two of my selfies with Simon Cowell. See Mariah’s epic selfies at http://ahardhobbittobreak.blogspot.com.

We eventually regained our dignity and went on our way to find our gate.

Yes, it was definitely the best layover I’ve ever had.